


Kanaya: do the vampire thing.

by Laylah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/F, Homestuck Kink Meme, Rainbow Drinkers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanaya licks purple blood from her lips, baring the points of her fangs, and Vriska suddenly feels like she can't breathe. She makes a completely undignified noise that should be Kanaya's name but isn't really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kanaya: do the vampire thing.

Vriska can feel her pulse in her _face_ , of all things. On the left side where Kanaya punched her, and on the right side where she hit the floor. The skin of the shoulder she landed on is rubbed raw.

This is ridiculous. She's _God Tier_ , she shouldn't be intimidated by anything. She has all the levels, all the power, all—

Kanaya licks purple blood from her lips, baring the points of her fangs, and Vriska suddenly feels like she can't breathe. She makes a completely undignified noise that should be Kanaya's name but isn't really. It gets Kanaya's attention, at least.

And Kanaya _smiles_ , fuck, this slow, confident predator's smile. She pulls her shades down and looks at Vriska over the tops of them and her eyes shine rich, fiery gold. "You had something to say?" she asks.

Vriska can't look away from her. "Kanaya," she says finally. "What happened to you?"

"The same thing that happened to you, I believe," Kanaya says. "I realized my destiny." She holds out a hand for Vriska to take.

Her fingers are white and cold, and it seems to take no effort at all for her to pull Vriska to her feet. Somewhere in the back of her mind, part of Vriska is horrified with herself, furious: _Mindfang would never have let anyone awe her like this. She would have been in control. She would have held her own._ But that voice is distant, compared to the much more pressing way the rest of her body screams _Kanaya, Kanaya, Kanaya_.

Kanaya slips her shades off with this easy grace that makes Vriska's heart pound. Has she always been this beautiful? This deadly?

She places one hand against Vriska's chest and pushes her back toward the wall. Vriska knows she should be resisting—she's a conqueror! nobody's plaything!—but Kanaya's presence, Kanaya's closeness, overwhelms her senses.

"You want this," Kanaya says, leaning close enough that her lips brush Vriska's throat. Before she would have made it a question. Now it's just the truth.

"Don't make me beg," Vriska says. She will, if she must. What is Kanaya doing to her _mind_?

"Not this time," Kanaya murmurs, a promise that makes heat burst between Vriska's legs—and then Kanaya's fangs pierce the skin of her throat and she forgets next time so she can pay attention to _this_ time.

It hurts, sudden and sharp, bright as the light rainbow drinkers are supposed to love. Vriska feels dizzy with it, because it's a _good_ hurt somehow, even though she's not fighting back, even though it's not the mutual devastation of a black coupling. Her senses are full of Kanaya, the cool body pressing her to the wall, the sweet scent of perfume mixed with metallic blood and chainsaw oil, the soft, suckling moans Kanaya makes as she drinks from Vriska's throat.

Vriska grips at Kanaya's torn dress, hands kneading compulsively, as if she could make Kanaya give her more. She hooks one leg behind Kanaya's and squeezes, canting her hips so she can grind against Kanaya's thigh.

Kanaya gasps for breath. "Yes," she says, and for one instant Vriska feels like she's gotten control back. Then Kanaya turns to kiss her mouth, and the taste of her own blood chases Vriska's composure away again. She rocks against Kanaya's thigh, kissing deep, heedless of the sharp fangs that threaten to cut her tongue. She has to close her eyes, because the brilliance of Kanaya's is too much to bear. Blood drips hot down her neck, soaking into her collar, and she doesn't even care. "You taste so good," Kanaya tells her, pulling back to lap at the spill.

"Please," is all Vriska can think to say. Right now nothing matters but the way Kanaya makes her feel. And Kanaya must pity her—hasn't she always known that?—because she works a hand inside Vriska's costume (of course Kanaya would have an easy time figuring out the intricacies of unfamiliar clothing) and presses three cold fingers between Vriska's thighs. Vriska's nubs are swollen and aching, and she whines helplessly as Kanaya's fingers rub her there. Kanaya moans, suckling the bite on Vriska's throat to coax more blood from the wound.

The pain and the friction make Vriska weak in the knees, leave her panting for breath. It feels good to surrender when it's like this, and realizing that makes shame wash hot over her skin with climax only seconds behind. She trembles, keening, her fluids soaking Kanaya's hand, her claws digging into Kanaya's hips.

Kanaya pulls back slowly, licking blue blood from her lips, looking pleased with herself. Vriska is still trying to catch her breath when Kanaya raises her hand to her mouth and starts to lick Vriska's genetic material off her fingers.

Never mind that they just finished, and too much blood loss would be bad for her. Vriska wants to start over right now. "Does it taste good?"

"Almost like your blood," Kanaya says. "A little smoother. Creamier."

Vriska reaches for her. "Do you want to try both at once?"

Kanaya's skin glows, and her eyes flare dangerously bright. She lunges, tackling Vriska to the floor, hands busy on her costume. The end of the world can wait.


End file.
